Twenty-Four Years Later…

I hated people.

Not really. I just hated having to deal with them. Like the woman on the other end of the phone who was insisting that I owed money for a physical therapy session I’d had two years ago after I’d strained my shoulder.

“Mr. Hunter, I’m looking at your account right now.”

Her voice had that sort of sickly-sweet tone that reminded me of the girls back in Boston who used to follow my brothers around. They thought all they had to do was bat their lashes and toss their hair, and guys would do whatever they wanted.

“I understand that,” I said, gritting my teeth. “But I’m looking at my paperwork right now, and it says that I’d already paid my deductible in its entirety.”

“It doesn’t matter what some papers say,” she countered. “It matters what your account shows.”

“Because computers never make errors.”

Unless I was working on making something, I wasn’t a patient person, but I tried to be reasonable when it came to dealing with people…until they said or did something stupid. Then, all bets were off.

“Would you like to make the payment by credit or debit card?”

I closed my eyes. “I’m not paying it because I don’t owe it.”

“Yes, you do.”

That was it. She was talking to me like I was a child or an idiot, and if there was one thing I hated worse than people, it was people who patronized me.

“I’d like to speak to your supervisor.”

I could almost hear her smile. “My supervisor’s not available right now.”

“Bullshit.”

“Sir, if you’re going to use that sort of language–”

And I was done.

“I’ll be handing my paperwork over to my lawyer. Your supervisor can call him.” I rattled off a number and then ended the call.

Was it rude of me to hang up on her? Maybe. Did I care? No.

I had more important things to do.

I pulled on my coat and stepped outside. Mid-March outside of Rawlins, Wyoming, was always cold and dry. This morning, it was also sunny, and I tipped my head back, closing my eyes and simply enjoying the warmth. I didn’t hate everything in the world, even though it seemed like it a lot of the time. I loved this. Being outside. Alone.

When I was a teenager, I’d heard once that there were more cows in Wyoming than there were people. From that moment, I’d had a goal in mind. A place of my own in Wyoming.

I breathed in the fresh air and then let it out slowly…then frowned.

I wasn’t a happy person. I knew that. But here, on my ranch, doing what I loved doing, without anyone telling me how I should be or act, I’d been more or less content. Then Grandfather died, and I’d gone back to Boston for the first time in three years. Something about being there again had left me restless.

“Dammit,” I muttered as I set off on my usual morning walk.

I needed to get back to normal. My normal. That meant checking my property as I did every morning, rain or shine, sun or snow. Once I was done with that, I’d get some lunch, then head to my workshop. I was behind thanks to the time I’d wasted back East.

I felt a stab of guilt at the thought. Grandfather and I had butted heads constantly, and my brothers pissed me off to no end, but me not wanting to spend time with them didn’t translate to wanting them dead. It was one thing to choose not to talk to them. It was something else entirely to know that choice wasn’t there anymore.

A gust of wind sent dirt against my face, and I wiped at my eyes, blinking away grit and tears. Tears from the dirt, not from emotions. I didn’t cry. Not because I hadn’t loved my grandfather, but because I didn’t cry. I hadn’t since I was little.

Both of my horses neighed at me when I walked into the barn, and the sound helped me push back the thoughts of the past. I’d thought I had put all of that behind me years ago, but Grandfather’s funeral and those stupid rules he’d made about my brothers and I reconciling had brought everything back to the surface.

I’d taken Shane out yesterday, so I passed by his stall and went into Annie’s. She was a gorgeous roan, large for a mare, which was good since I wasn’t exactly a small guy. I planned on breeding her and Shane in another year. They didn’t have the sort of pedigrees that won awards or races, but I was confident that they’d produce a beautiful colt.

“Hey, girl,” I said softly as I moved around her.

I didn’t talk much to people, but I liked talking to the horses. They didn’t talk back, and they didn’t care what I said. I could tell them everything and anything and nothing. And if I didn’t want to speak, I didn’t have to.

She danced a bit, like she always did when she first got outside, but she settled after a few minutes, and I swung myself up into the saddle. “All right, Annie, let’s get started.”

I went down the drive first, swinging around when I got to the road. One of the things that’d attracted me to this place was that it was on a dirt road off a paved road and off a highway. I couldn’t see a single building from any of the property lines. I didn’t know who owned the land bordering mine on any side, and that was fine with me. I didn’t care who they were, as long as they left me alone.

I let myself fall into the familiar rhythm of riding, let my mind wander as I scanned the perimeter. I didn’t raise animals, so I didn’t really need to check fences and that sort of thing, but I did it anyway. Maintenance was always better than having to rebuild something.

Besides, this entire place was mine. I’d bought it myself, with money I’d earned. I hadn’t touched my trust fund or anything else that had come from my family. Even during high school, I’d done apprenticeships with the best tradesmen in both woodworking and blacksmithing. By the time I was twenty, I’d started taking on jobs of my own. By twenty-two, I’d been making a decent living. Now, at twenty-eight, I owned a multi-million-dollar ranch and had enough in my bank account that I could probably go a decade without working if I didn’t spend crazy.

It didn’t matter if no one else came here to see what I’d accomplished. I knew, and I was damn proud of it.

“Hello, there!”

The shout caught me off-guard, and Annie reared, throwing me back in the saddle.

Shit.